


Elective Memory

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Bruises, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hunting’s a rough job, and they both know it. More than once Dean’s been asked if he’s in some sort of secret Fight Club, and thinks those asking are only half-joking."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elective Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DW kinkbingo square of "bites/bruises". Set sometime during season 3. Spoilers up to 2.22. I warn for potential triggers of what may be considered assault.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Hunting’s a rough job, and they both know it. More than once Dean’s been asked if he’s in some sort of secret Fight Club, and thinks those asking are only half-joking.

When he was a kid he could name the source of all his bruises: one from that demon in Utah, the next from a particularly pissed-off ghost over in Texas, the huge mark across his back that came from a werewolf soaking up the sun in California.

Now, he couldn’t name even one.

Sam, though, he seems to know. “That ghost really got you good, huh?” Sam asks, fingers tracing over the mark across the top of Dean’s right arm. Even the lightest of touches aggrivates it, making it throb dull and heavy up and down the limb.

“Son of a bitch just got lucky,” Dean says, his voice weak.

“Mmm,” Sam says, and Dean can’t tell if he’s agreeing or not. He doesn’t bother questioning. “Lift up your shirt.”

Again, part of him wants to go against Sam just ‘cause, just ‘cause that’s what he does, but there’s this exhaustion looming over him, so instead he listens and raises his shirt, clenching his teeth as it pulls his skin.

Sam lets out a low whistle. “You’ve been good at hiding this.”

Dean grunts rather than answers as Sam runs a hand down his side, pain pinpricking across his ribcage and spiking over to his spine. He swallows, heavy, holding down the urge to pull himself away from Sam’s touch. “All this your idea of foreplay?” he asks instead.

Sam looks at him and where there’s been smiles and shining eyes lately there’s nothing. Sam just looks blank, and it startles something in Dean so violently he’s surprised he can keep from jumping up. His brother looks empty.

“Sam,” he says, voice low. Then he stops, because he’s got no idea what else to add. He just hopes Sam gets it.

Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but Sam moves closer and kisses him. It starts slow, soft, with closed-mouth kisses ebbing their way across Dean’s lips to his jaw and back again before a tongue presses to their seam and Dean easily opens his mouth, tasting Sam’s tongue.

Sam’s got this ability to make him forget, or just to make him not feel, because he’s being pressed into the bed without noticing the bruises. It’s only after Sam’s hands move to his ribs and grip that all he’s meant to be feeling comes flooding back.

“Ouch -- hey.” He grips Sam’s forearms and squeezes until his knuckles turn white, transferring the pain from his sides into attack mode in the choice of fight of flight. Sam hardly seems to notice.

“Shh,” he says instead and yanks himself out of Dean’s grasp.

“Sam, what--?” And then it cuts into a yell when Sam digs a hand into the soft space between his ribs and hip. “Sam, _fuck_ , stop it!”

He lets up, but his fingers still sit in the same place, light pressure letting Dean know it’s going to bruise. “Just...just let me, okay?”

“Why?” He’s quick to say it, before Sam starts gripping again.

Sam’s hands gently brush over his skin, rubbing in light circles that don’t hurt nearly as much as the touch seconds ago. Dean lets himself relax, just a little. “‘cause you trust me.”

Dean’s got no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but finds himself saying, “Yeah, Sammy, you know I do.”

“Then let me.”

He still has no idea why Sam wants this - hell, he know idea what exactly _‘this’_ is - but it doesn’t really matter, not in the scheme of things. So he lets Sam dig his fingers in again, and he goes with the pain this time, rides through it because Sam is looking down at him, and even though his hands make Dean ache his eyes are soft and careful, and full of so much love and fear that Dean has to close his just to keep from falling apart.

“You gotta remember me.” Sam says those words at such a quiet whisper Dean’s not even sure he heard them, but he pulls his eyes open again and Sam adds, “Please.”

That pulls Dean out of everything, all the rest of the world fading into the background. “What? Why would I ever--?” And he can’t even finish the sentence, there’s nothing to finish it with.

“Hell...If you…” He trails off and the tips of his fingers go back to digging in, harder, and it all comes to a sudden realisation to Dean. Realisation makes it hurt a lot less.

He reaches up and wraps his hand through Sam’s hair. “Sam, it’s okay.”

Sam nods against him and leans in close, tongue swiping over Dean’s collarbone and making him shiver. Then he bites down, gentle on the flesh just below his bone and then harder until it stings and Dean knows the flesh is broken and bleeding freely.

“You’re mine,” Sam says when he moves away. “Not matter what.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. _Yeah_.


End file.
